Gemotions

He stared at the small, cream-colored envelope, the bank's return address a stark reminder of the reality. It lay on the kitchen table, a silent accusation, holding the key to his wife's secret savings. He had to sit. He sank into the chair, the wood cool against his skin.

He felt the muscles in his shoulders knotting, his jaw clenching. Every breath felt forced. The familiar sounds of the house – the hum of the refrigerator, the distant rumble of a passing car – grated on his nerves. He wanted everything to stop. He wanted to disappear. He felt a profound depletion.